


The Mystery of the Double Date

by Patti7dc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Light BDSM, Mystery, Pre-The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patti7dc/pseuds/Patti7dc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rebecca is an evidence clerk at New Scotland Yard who has a crush on a handsome ex-army Doctor that comes in often to help on police cases. Her best friend is Sabrina - who just started a new job working for a semi-secret division of the government and despises her new umbrella-carrying boss. When the handsome Dr. Watson finally asks Rebecca out on a date she has to decline since she doesn't want to cancel her plans with Sabrina but he shows up at the pub anyways with his brooding flat-mate Sherlock in tow. John's plans to turn the gathering into a double date threaten to blow up when Rebecca realizes that Sherlock is related to her friend's evil boss. Mayhem and Mystery ensue.</p><p>**There are a few intro chapters, then the "double date", and then the story will follow along the plot for Reichenbach, and I have some mystery planned. There is also some BDSM planned (hence the mature rating). The main characters of this story are NOT John and Sherlock - but the original female characters Rebecca and Sabrina. I thought it might be fun to add some "fresh meat" to the Sherlock universe. I own nothing but the original characters. Moffat/Gatiss are the creators. I'm just playing with the toys in the box as they say.**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rebecca

“Honestly Becks, sometimes I just want to smash his bloody face in with that stupid umbrella!” she shouts, emphasizing the vehemence in her statement by slamming her fist down on the table. The water glasses and silverware all rattle on the table and a hush falls over the dwindling dinner crowd. Rebecca almost spits out the drink she is taking due to her friend’s outburst. “Calm down, please,” Rebecca pleads in a whisper, “You can’t scream murderous intentions in the middle of Vinoteca and expect to get away with the crime now can you?” she adds, trying to extinguish the rage behind Sabrina’s eyes. The scowl on Sabrina’s face lessens and a hint of a smile tugs at her mouth. “Since I’m probably the one who would analyze the evidence, I’m sure I could still manage to deflect any suspicion,” Sabrina mutters. Rebecca pushes the glass of wine in front of her closer to her friend’s hand. “Just have another sip of your medicine and you’ll feel better about your tosser of a boss.” Several glasses later they are the last ones out of the restaurant. Rebecca eases Sabrina into the back of a cab and gives the driver the address of her Mayfair flat. Sabrina had assured her that she would make it the five minute ride back to her flat perfectly fine and reluctantly Rebecca agreed to let her get herself home without assistance. After waving to the retreating figure in the back of the cab, Rebecca tightens her scarf and shoves her hands deep into her coat pockets. Turning towards the wind, she walks the four blocks to her own flat.

Back in her cozy Soho studio, Rebecca changes into her warm flannel pyjamas and brushes her teeth. Her short blonde bobbed hair is pulled back into small pigtails behind both ears. They make her look at least a decade younger than her 33 years. She switches the bathroom light off, bathing the small flat in total darkness except for the twinkle of white fairy lights that hang from the curtain rods on the windows behind her four poster bed. She flops down onto the cream colored comforter. She was beyond excited when she found this bed on sale, as unlike most beds, she didn’t have to climb up onto it. Being only 5’2”, she needs furniture that is better suited to her petite stature. This bed is styled in the romantic way of a stately four poster bed, while having a modern twist. Its black frame contrasts her flat’s dark grey walls and wood paneled flooring. At the foot of her bed are two antique sitting stools and on the opposite wall, facing the bed, is a lightly worn green velvet couch that she thought was “beautiful” (Sabrina had sneered and called it “uglyful”) when she found it a few months ago at a second hand store. Lying in bed she looks to her right, at the front door. In the twinkle of the fairy lights she can vaguely make out the chain lock drawn across the door frame. Ever since Sabrina had gotten a job analyzing covert evidence within the British Government, she had scared Rebecca with her horror stories and now she couldn’t get to sleep without checking the door locks several times and keeping the fairy lights on while she slept. She looks to her left as the fridge in the small kitchenette kicks on, startling her. _Damnit, Sabrina, now I’m even scared of my own bloody fridge._ She sighs in exasperation and feels her eyelids growing so heavy.

Just as she is about to lose consciousness, she hears a whisper to her left near the bathroom. Her eyes fly open and her breathing stops. She is frozen, unable to move, straining to hear any other sound. The hum of the fridge and the occasional car going by the window is the only sound she hears in the next several minutes. She has resumed shallow, quiet breaths but still remains frozen in place with fear. She manages to turn her head and look around. The dim glow of her adult night lights illuminate most of the large main room of her studio flat. She sees nothing out of place, no dark figure huddled in the corner. Very slowly she eases herself towards the edge of the bed, making sure to keep her body flat. She reaches the edge of the bed and quickly sits up, fists clutching the sheets by her side. She is staring straight ahead into the darkened bathroom. The glow illuminates the doorframe but nothing more. It looks like a cavernous black hole. _This is silly_ she tries to reason with herself. _It’s not a black hole, it’s a bathroom. I was just in there brushing my teeth and no one was in there._ She stands up and walks slowly towards the bathroom door. She realizes she is holding her breath but can’t will herself to make the noise it would take to exhale. She reaches her hands in front of her, feeling around the doorframe, determined to illuminate the dark before she puts one toe in the room. She flicks the light switch, the florescent light above the sink flickering to life. She expelled her lungs full of air as it comes into view. Her bathroom. Just the same as she left it. Her toothbrush in the cup next to the sink. Her towel neatly folded on the counter. And her mobile on the back of the toilet. Her mobile!! She picks up her phone and switches the screen to life. It vibrates in her hand, indicating a missed text alert. Her cheeks flare with embarrassment. The whisper was her text alert - a sound byte from a Doctor Who episode. Sabrina is always picking on her for her unusual text alerts. Hearing about this would make her day. She flicks her fingers over the screen to check the message. _Oh surprise, surprise._ The text is from Sabrina. ***Thankx for tonit Becks – I needed timee with my beastie aftr the week I had -S*** Rebecca giggles to herself at being called a beastie instead of a bestie and knows she will give Sabrina a significant ribbing the next day for this drunk text (but she thinks she will leave out the part where it scared the shit out of her). She quickly sends a text back. ***Glad I could feed you alcohol while you vented. Sometimes I don’t know how you can claim to love your job so much when you work for such a pain in the arse. <3-Becks* **Flicking off the bathroom light – she clicks the side switch on her phone to silence it and flops back onto the bed. The adrenaline from her little brush with “danger” has worn off and sleep overtakes her almost instantly.


	2. Sabrina

The sound of twinkling bells invades her dreams again. This time it pulls her out of sleep and she stirs into consciousness. Unfortunately with consciousness comes a throbbing behind her eyes. “Maybe I had one too many glasses of wine last night,” she mumbles as she rolls towards her bedside table, and the twinkling bells. She slowly opens one eye halfway, casting a wary glance at her phone, its twinkling bell ringtone ceasing. She touches the screen. _Five missed calls?_ She touches the icon and the same number shows up having called her five times in the last half hour. The throbbing behind her eyes threatens to turn into a skull splitting headache. Mr. Holmes has called her five times in thirty minutes on a Saturday morning. It occurs to her that had she known this would happen she would have had several more glasses of wine last night. He hasn’t left any voicemails for her. Which means he intends to call repeatedly until she picks up. As if on cue, the twinkling ringtone begins again. _Such a sweet innocent sound shouldn’t prelude such a ghastly summons._ She reluctantly presses the screen to answer the call. “Good morning Mr. Hol-,” she is interrupted almost immediately by a polite monotone voice calmly laying out a series of orders. A slight upturn of the voice at the end of a sentence indicates a question being asked. “Fifteen minutes?” she mumbles quickly. He mutters one word of assent and the line goes silent.

Groaning she opens both eyes and heaves herself out of bed towards the ensuite bath with as much energy as she can muster. A five minute shower later she pads back into the bedroom towel drying her hair. The plum paint on the walls and the early morning light filtering through the vertical blinds gives the room a warm glow. It helps to ease the ache behind her eyes and calm the growing sense of dread creeping up in the back of her mind. In the six months since being transferred to Mr. Holmes’ division she has often been required to work twelve hour days and once put in a 60 hour week but hasn’t been called in on a Saturday yet. She heard around the office that the last time it was 'all hands on deck' and people worked through the weekend that there were a series of bombs being strapped to people around the city. She cringes at the thought. She grabs her black framed glasses as she passes by the dresser and shoving them on her face, stops in front of the built in closet that holds all her work appropriate clothes. She chooses a cable knit grey sweater dress and grabs a thin red belt to give it some shape high on her waist. Instead of pantyhose she tugs on black leggings (they’re warmer) and pulls on her grey suede ankle boots as she hops through the living room towards the entry door. Stopping at the kitchen breakfast bar, the only thing that separates the kitchen from the living room, she stuffs her over-sized purse there with her laptop, mobile, and a packet of crisps even though her stomach turns at the thought of eating them. She knows she will need energy for the day that her boss has laid out for her. Grabbing her keys on the hook by the door (good thing she was sober enough to put them in their proper place last night), she runs out onto the sidewalk, letting the door slam behind her. One of the advantages of her ground floor flat is the small garden that will bloom beautiful colors right outside her door in a few months when spring settles in. The other advantage is that she doesn't have to worry about breaking her neck flying down the stairs these early mornings on her way to work. Instead she darts across the four stone pavers and skids to a halt on the sidewalk. The back door to the waiting black sedan opens in front of her and she barely lifts her feet off the ground before the car is speeding her away.

She gives a huff, wishing she had given herself more time to at least dry her hair or grab a scarf because it’s so cold she can still see her breath in the backseat. “Can we turn the heat up a bit Anthea?” she asks the woman across from her, who is typing furiously on her mobile. Anthea makes a noise that sounds like “umph” and the driver must understand that is an affirmation because she sees him reach to the dash and immediately the back is bathed in a warm gust. Sabrina runs her fingers through her still damp hair and pulls it to the side while braiding the length of it and tying off the end. Even with the braid in her auburn hair still goes halfway down her chest. She hadn't even noticed it was getting this long. She figures could probably use a haircut, if she can ever get some free time. Her attention is drawn back to her co-rider. Anthea hasn’t even broken eye contact from her blackberry. Sabrina has been complaining lately about all the hours she works at Mr. Holmes’ request. Anthea is Mr. Holmes’ PA. _What must her hours be like?_ Sabrina thinks grimly. A pang of sympathy turns her stomach. _Or is that the hangover?_ She hadn’t planned on getting that drunk last night, but it was a long week and she needed to get out of her head. _Oh! Becks!_ She grabs her mobile out of her purse and sends a quick text. ***Becks – Satan called this morning and I have to head into work. Are we still on for dinner tonight?*** The rest of the ride goes by in silence. The car pulls up to a non-descript building in central London. Sabrina rides the elevator with Anthea to a sub-basement level and without a word of departure Sabrina heads to her familiar lab at the end of the long hallway. The code on the keypad at the entry opens the door and all the lights flicker on. The lab looks exactly as it did when she left it late yesterday evening save for one thing. A large pile of folders sits in the middle of the room on her main table. Before she enters the room she leans back, looking down the hallway. What she didn’t notice on the walk to her lab she notices now. There is only darkness in the hall. No lights coming through any other lab door. That means.... _No,_ she scowls, _I can’t be the only one who has been called in this morning._ She heads into the lab and eyes the pile of folders, noticing now there is a pair of boxes on the floor as well, most likely containing samples to analyze. She switches on the computer monitor on her desk at the back wall and immediately notices an email from Mr. Holmes.

>   
> _Miss Morgan,_
> 
> _Thank you for coming in. I have very important work to be done and I trust you explicitly to make sure it’s handled properly. Call with any questions._
> 
> _-M. Holmes_

She couldn’t suppress the groan that came out of her mouth. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” she whined outloud, her voice echoing off the metal fume hood in the corner. “He trusts me EXPLICITLY?” she continued, not flattered in the least. “What did I do to deserve that?” She grumbles, lowering her voice. _Not that anyone would hear me since I’m the only bloody one called in on a Saturday!_ she shouts in her own head this time. Rising from her computer desk she heads to the center table with the boxes and folders. She takes her phone out of her purse again to send another quick text. Becks hasn’t texted back yet. _Probably because she wasn’t woken out of a full night’s sleep by the devil himself._ ***This is going to be rough. I will definitely need some more “medicine” tonight. Please let me know that dinner is still on.*** With that she puts her phone on a side table and begins her work.


	3. Run In

Rebecca wakes up naturally at 10am and reads the additional text messages from Sabrina from beneath the warmth of her comforter. Wincing with pity she quickly fires back a response. ***SO sorry you’re working - we’re definitely on for dinner - the usual - I’ll grab us a table - 7pm*** They had a long-standing tradition of getting together once a month and spending way too much money on a gourmet dinner at a posh restaurant. The place they frequented most lately was one they’d discovered when Sabrina moved into the flat above it back in September. Most times when they got together, it was spent giggling over cheap red wine and take-away containers on one of their sofas and watching crap telly. With Sabrina’s new work schedule, they’d hardly had time to text each other these last few months let alone have a ladies’ night in. Rebecca was glad for the urgent call last night, Sabrina begging to go “anywhere and get really pissed”. Not that Rebecca had gotten drunk, but it was good to giggle with her friend again. She peels herself out of bed and decides to spend the morning doing some cleaning around the flat. Its just before noon when she opens the fridge, shocked to find it nearly empty. A memory of being in the middle of a grocery list when she got Sabrina’s desperate call the night before resurfaces. She grabbed her coat, scarf, and purse and decides the short walk to the store will be her exercise for the day. Less than ten minutes and four blocks later she is marching through the aisles at the Tesco Express near Soho Square. She is picking up only what she can comfortably carry back. She knows that since she’ll be blowing a day’s paycheck at dinner she really can’t justify the cab fare back home as well. Of course, Sabrina will offer to pay for dinner, as she always does. But Rebecca will refuse, as she always does. If she’s going to engage in the tradition of blowing money on a meal she doesn’t need, she should be the one paying for it. She is rounding a display case of biscuits when two things happen simultaneously. A man comes around the other side of the display just as a four year old with a runaway trolley hits Rebecca’s backside; thereby unceremoniously mashing her face-first into the man’s fluffy jumper. Completely shocked by the collision, Rebecca drops everything she has in her hands as she fumbles to push herself away from her accidental target, and begins muttering apologies before her face has even left the warmth of his chest. She feels his strong hands grip her arms and peel her back from his body. She looks up at his face and sees dark blue eyes krinkled in an embarrassed look, complete with an awkward grin. It takes a moment for her to recognize the handsome features, but the recognition simultaneously goes both ways.

“John!”

“Becks?”

The both of them bend down to retrieve the spilled groceries, letting out nervous laughs. “Kids, eh?” John nods towards the driver of the runaway trolley, whose mother is sighing apologies as she drags the child to the next aisle. His shrieks echo inside Rebecca’s head and remind her that she drank too much the previous night. Seeing the pained expression on her face worries John. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you okay?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, just bloody hungover is all. Sorry.”

John stands up and extends his free hand to help her up. Seeing her face turn up towards him with a smile on her face reminds him of the first time he met her...

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

It was several months ago and she was working in the evidence room at New Scotland Yard. Sherlock had needed to see something for a case he was working on but he was in a mood - it was shortly after Irene Adler’s first death - so John decided that it would be a better outcome if he went to evidence and submitted the request instead. He had caught the sight of her bright blonde hair behind a shelf later that day. Even with Lestrade standing next to him filling out the paperwork she had distracted him from listening to the rotund, grey haired officer who was explaining to him all the things he was not allowed to do with whatever he took. Later that week when he returned the evidence (some clothing from the victim) with several cut-outs missing, he stood there red-faced and accepted the cranky old officer’s berating and didn’t blame the distraction of the pretty woman, who this time was sat at a desk trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t hearing the scolding. When the old officer finished with a huff and walked away, he muttered under his breath to the blonde to put away “what was left” of the evidence. As John continued to stand at the counter he texted a string of curse words to Sherlock - whom he was sure knew the rules of evidence better than he, since he constantly bragged that he knew everything. Punching the send button with a grimace on his face, he was interrupted from his rage by a quiet giggle. Snapping his head up he immediately forgot his anger as the blonde woman’s smiling round face beamed at him.

“Don’t look so upset, this stuff was already examined by the techs and they didn’t find anything. They might never catch the person who did it!”

He tried not to look as confused as he was. _Is she comforting me?_ She continued to smile sweetly at him. He mustered up his most humble voice and gently broke the news. “Thank you but actually the police arrested a suspect yesterday. That evidence pointed to the ex-wife.”

“Oh?!? Really? Wow, I didn’t… You and that detective you were in here with found that out?”

“Well… erm… we had it analyzed by an outside source.” _It’s only a half lie._ “She confessed to everything late last night,” he added, shuffling his feet.

“Well that’s even better!” the blonde chirped, her smile impossibly bigger now.

“It is?”

“Sure! If she confessed then the barrister will probably get her sentenced without having to go to trial and this evidence won’t ever leave this room. Noone will ever have to know.” she finished with a giggle.

He allowed himself to relax a bit. She was being very kind to him. _Is she flirting?_ Her giggle made his cheeks warm and he let a geniune sigh escape his lips. Casting a look over her shoulder at officer grumpy, he whispered to her, “I wish he had your positive attitude. He’ll never let me take out evidence again.”

“Oh don’t worry about him. He’s retiring next week so it won’t be a problem for long.”

“Well hopefully his replacement hasn’t heard of my shameful behavior,” John added, trying to sound charming.

“Well….” her giggle surprised him again. “She has heard a bit about your transgressions,” she leaned forward and whispered to him.

_Wait a minute…. is she…._

“But you know what they say,” she continued, “all is well that ends well, or umm, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs,” *giggle*, “or something like that.”

“The ends justify the means?”

“How very Machiavellian of you!” And winking at him, she headed towards the stacks with the evidence box.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Since then John had seized every opportunity to head down to the evidence storage and visit the new blonde (and beautiful) evidence clerk. He increasingly found that standing at the counter and making her giggle was the highlight of his day. Their flirting had become very frequent in the last few weeks but he hadn’t asked her out yet, nervous about what her coworkers might have told her about him (or about Sherlock). But now here she was at the Tesco. And they had literally run into each other. _Well, Carpe Diem old boy._

**Author's Note:**

> Rebecca's Apartment Layout (if you're curious)  
> 2D view - http://www.homestyler.com/designprofile/7661a022-516f-4e53-aea5-612b25d6cf4d  
> Panorama - http://www.homestyler.com/designprofile/7661a022-516f-4e53-aea5-612b25d6cf4d


End file.
